“Name: Josias K. Prosper

DOB: April 5, 1994

Age: 16

Sex: Male

Race: Caucasian

Hair color: Brown

Eye color: Green

Height: 5’6”

Weight: 143 lbs

Missing from: Northwoods, Virginia,” The detective reads to himself, the file still clasped in his hands. Prior to the missing person case, the detective’s work space was as organized as he was. Now, his desk was composed of papers, photos of Josias himself, and coffee stained notes. The boy’s shining green eyes, seeming dead and perhaps sinister, stared right into Detective Johnstone’s soul. As Johnstone stared back, the photo warped and changed. The boy’s pale freckled face splattered with crimson blood, and his hair was woven through a crown of brambles and thorns. Despite this transformation, his smile never wavered. A voice pierced through his consciousness to bring him back from his trance.

“Detective? Detective!” The voice yelled, “dammit Johnstone! We have work to do!”. The voice was that of the detective’s partner, a man filled with determination. Detective Moore was his name, and he was assigned to the same case as Detective Johnstone. Unlike Detective Johnstone, Detective Moore was born and raised in Northwoods, a small town. He had known the missing person at least a little.

Johnstone looked up from the photo in his hands to look up at Moore, bags under his eyes and his breath of ash. His voice croaked as he spoke, like that of a stereotypical cop, “any leads on the case?”.

“Well, I questioned the boys at the scene of the crime,” Detective Moore replied, twiddling his clammy thumbs as he thought of the words to explain what he had uncovered.

“Go on, Moore, we don’t have all day.”

“OK, OK. The boys told me they were attempting a ritual of sorts, and Josias was the one orchestrating the whole thing. They sacrificed a duck, when they were supposed to sacrifice a bull. Supposedly, the ritual was partially successful. They managed to summon something. They-guess this-didn’t actually see what they summoned. The boys fell unconscious, and when they awoke, Josias was gone,”. Detective Moore set a folder containing photos of Josias and the boys standing in a circle around a pool of blood, the boys wearing masks and robes, the sacrifices (dogs, cats, cows, etc.) among photos of the evidence they found.

“So, you’re telling me that this is a case of satanic worship? What, are we in a horror movie now?” Detective Johnstone merely scoffed, and he leaned back in his squeaky old chair. As he looked through the evidence, his tone shifted. “I see… They aren’t joking.”

“It’s more like they’re a coven of witches, Johnstone. To me, it seems like they’re either worshiping old gods, or they’re worshiping dark forces”.

“From what I am seeing here, this isn’t a viable witness account. Either they killed Josias, or Josias really was taken away by dark forces. I’d say they went coo-coo and killed the boy. Let’s use that as a lead….”

It is too late Detective. The boy is too far from your reach, and he is only getting further away. He is no longer the boy he once was. In fact, he was never the boy they thought he was. Innocent? He fought several teachers, but no one believed them. Confident? That’s far from the truth, for his insecurities were slowly suffocating him. Brilliant? He was indeed, significantly brilliant.